


Fate's Design

by InkSkratches



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6793459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSkratches/pseuds/InkSkratches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speculation on a series of what-ifs. What if Kaze married Azura? What if an A-rank was never achieved before Birthright 15? What if the baby realms didn't exist? And what if, at the end of everything, one child was left alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

For as cold as the night had grown around him, the blood trickling down Saizo's leg remained oddly warm. So when he finally relinquished his struggle through the forest to slump against a knotted tree, he found that the leaves above shivered more than he did. He watched the dark cloth of his uniform grow darker still, feeling the warmth as it spread up his body. Like a blanket, it received him. Or an embrace. 

Small fingers, tugging insistently at his sleeve.

His eyelids flickered, and he tried to remember when the moonlight had started to fail him. Perhaps clouds had gathered across the sky while he fled. Perhaps even clouds heavy with rainwater. Perhaps, in the end, fate would grant him one act of mercy, sending droplets to chip away at his trail until his existence had been all but washed from the forest.

He could not have fashioned a better end. A successful mission followed by no fanfare but the dirt at his back and the wind on his face. And yet his chest continued to flutter. The tiny fingers of warmth continued to grope. And on the wind, a voice. One he could almost understand...


	2. One

"You don't have to hide from me, Saizo."

To say he was shocked would have been an exaggeration. He had not hidden himself the way he might if presented with true danger. Even so, he had not expected those eyes to pick him out through the reeds so quickly. No longer committed to upholding his charade of secrecy, he emerged onto the riverbank with a rasp of shifting undergrowth. 

While his boots sank lightly into the mud as he came to stand beside her, Azura seemed to float atop the wet earth. And though she had swapped her royal accoutrements for a simple robe, her bearing remained proud. His time spent in service to his lord had taught him to recognize royalty. Even with her feet dangling in the water and her posture relaxed, her chin remained high and her gaze assured. 

It was a gaze she turned then to the water. His good eye narrowed.

"You've been following me more than usual the past several weeks," she continued, lifting one foot from the water to examine the droplets as they tinkled back into the river. "Is there something to which I owe the pleasure of your presence?"

The mild notes of her timbre only served to clench the knot that had begun throbbing between his brows. Scowling, he kept his eye trained on her. Though she could insult them both with feigned relaxation, he would afford her no such play at pleasantries.

"The vows you made with my brother. You will come with me to revoke them."

Her attention, drifting idly with the water downstream, snapped back to her all at once. The gaze she turned to him then was one filled with genuine shock. It might have taken him aback, had his feet not been so firmly affixed to the mud.

"I...I wasn't aware you even knew," she replied.

"I make it my duty to know what goes on in camp," came his terse retort. Unsticking himself from the bank, he took a step away from her, turning as if to leave. Drawing out the conversation would only leave room for argument. 

And yet, argument seemed to be the choice Azura was fixed on. Lifting her hand to her pendant absently, her gaze once again floated off down the river. He turned himself back to her, just as her lips parted. He barely managed to catch her reply before it drifted downstream.

"Kaze said you never came to him. He made it sound as though he didn't wish to burden you with the news."

The silence that passed between them lengthened, filled with the bubbling of the river and the buzz of an errant cicada. Backlit by the glare of the fading sun, Azura's figure waned from white to black before him, sparks of the last light flitting off the water's surface behind her. An image he knew well now--one that had been burned into his memory. 

"Kaze does not need to speak for me to know his mind. His movements in battle are more telling than he likes to think.”

“Yes…” she replied, expression still obscured by the sun’s glare. “He’s often told me you prefer sparring to speech.”

Her words, like cold flint, struck a flame inside his stomach. Swallowing the sudden surge of hot bile that followed, his brows lowered further. “You’d dare imply you know my own flesh better than I?”

“Not at all. I am only relaying his words.”

Words. As though such things held weight. Eye narrowed, he tried his push his gaze through the glare--to pierce the shadow that obscured Azura’s face. Yet, she never moved, and the heat of the evening light only caused a sheen of sweat to break over his brow. Setting his jaw behind his mask, he spoke again.

“You have no place at his side, nor he yours. You will come with me to revoke your vows.”

Silence welled between them again. And, as though buoyed by it, Azura withdrew her feet from the water and stood. As she moved, the sunlight caught her face, though it did little to dispel the shadow that had settled there. 

“If you can convince your brother to agree to your demands, I won’t argue. But, until then, I will walk this path we have chosen together.”

Her feet, bare and white against the mud, punctuated each breath as she slipped past him. And though they were alone--though it would have been easy to employ force should he have wished it--he could only watch her go. He could only turn, silent, as her figure disappeared between the reeds.


	3. Two

From an early age, their training had taught them to detect the minute. Shifts in weight. Falters of breath. Any could reveal that the hunted had become aware of its hunter. In their clandestine line of work, such nuance could often mean the difference between failure and success. Life and death. 

And yet, such practical battlefield skills Kaze chose to use instead for reading the emotional well being of others. A stranger need only exhale within limits of the human ear to send his brother springing to their side, asking how he might assist. Though it caused Saizo to wonder how Kaze ever completed any of his bloodier missions, he never had the heart to chide him for it. The family's legacy was not his burden to bear, after all. And without its weight, a kindness had found room to take root in his brother's soul. Such a shock of green amidst the arid climate of training and duty and blood felt too rare to stamp out.

Yet, it remained a liability. As such, Saizo did what he could to discourage its growth. Though their allies frequently watered Kaze with praise, few had the stomach to prune him. And so Saizo took up the shears himself. All gentle remarks or pushes for divulgence met only the snap of blades in response. Slowly, the branches between them refused to bud. Slowly, Kaze learned to speak, not with benevolence, but with blood.

It fostered silence. 

Even amidst the bustle of the mess hall, such quiet pressed around them. Hunched over their bowls, not a word passed over the scarred wooden table. And yet, Saizo could not keep his eye from drifting over his brother and taking in his movements. In spite of the summer warmth, a cold precision hardened the tips of Kaze's fingers and the edges of his mouth. And the way his gaze remained fixed upon his miso caused something like an itch to creep up Saizo's spine. Good eye narrowing, he set his spoon down with a conspicuous enough clatter to catch his brother's attention.

"Clean yourself up and meet me in the field."

Jolted from his focus, Kaze met Saizo's gaze with a familiar hesitation. "What is this about?"

"I want to show you something."

The lengthening days meant that the sun still shone over the patch of field that served as their temporary training grounds. The space might have once served as farmland, but the war had chased many of the outlying Hoshidan villages closer to the safety of the capital. Now only wild grasses swept in an endless blanket toward each horizon. In their midst, a circular patch had been cut down to reveal mud littered with footprints and the pockmarks of fallen blades. 

Saizo moved past it. Behind him, he could hear the unfaltering footsteps of his brother. The sounds of his boots followed him as they moved out of the grass and into a stand of bamboo. Slipping easily between the stalks, it did not take long until the forest opened to reveal a river--the same river their camp had been following for days now. The way it burbled over the rocks told Saizo it had strength where it lacked depth. Without turning around, he waded into the water, feeling the current tug at his boots as it surged up to ankle height--but no higher. Finally, he faced his brother.

Kaze remained immobile on the river bank, mouth hidden behind the purple cloak bunched at his shoulders. His eyes, however, remained in full view. And inside them, a darkness gathered.

The soft hiss of a kunai cut the air before ending in a sharp clang.

Saizo paused where he stood, arm still moving with the momentum of his throw. Opposite him, Kaze had bent his knees, arms raised and a noticeable divot now decorating one of the metal guards protecting them. Raising his head, his gaze became visible again, just as clouded as before.

"What is this about?" came his voice, soft over the frothing river.

Saizo eased another kunai from his belt, flipping it in his fingers. "Defend yourself," he snapped. "I know you're armed."

Another hiss. Another clang to follow. And another dent to mar Kaze's arm guards as he refused to move. The river roared like blood in Saizo's ears, and yet his fingers reached for another weapon all the same. In the time it took the blade to change hands, he had assessed his brother's stance and the weight favored in his right foot. Breaking toward him, he cut through the water, showering the riverbank in his approach. And just as Kaze moved to block him high, he cut low. One swift slice and blood mingled with water on the river bank.

"Fight me!" Saizo barked behind his mask as Kaze stumbled away from him, clutching his side. "Or do you have nothing worth living for?"

Grimacing, Kaze lifted a shuriken from inside his tunic. Spinning it in his hands, he dashed forward. But Saizo never moved. Instead he waited. And, as it had so many times in the past, the feint arrived. Swerving in an arc of spray, he met his brother's weapon as it fell from behind him, using the momentum to toss their bodies apart. Sloshing through the water, Kaze fell back, barely finding the time to recover before Saizo was on him. The ring of metal echoed through the air as the kunai fell, again and again, over his guards. It was all Kaze could do to protect his head. And that meant nothing could deflect the boot that flew to his chest. The blow connected with a hollow thud, followed by a splash as Kaze fell backwards into the river.

"Get up," Saizo snarled, raising his weapon as he stalked forward. "I thought this was your element."

Clothes now soaked and heavy, Kaze floundered against the current as he attempted to gain his feet once more. But all he could do was crawl. Like a wounded animal, he dragged himself over the rocks, blood trailing from his side in a ribbon down the river. Yet his eyes never left Saizo. They refused to yield. 

Saizo grimaced. "If you have the heart for treachery, show me you have the strength to defend it."

Another hiss of metal bit through the air. But this time only a splash of water punctuated its landing. Grabbing it from the current, Saizo had just enough time to lift it, dripping, to his face before the blades on Kaze's guards bore down on him. Metal grating together, his brother's face came inches from his own. 

"I've betrayed no one," he panted. 

"Not yet," Saizo returned, dislodging their blades and leaping away. "But how many vows will it take until you do?"

Kaze's feet skidded over the rocks, water arcing behind him. As he came to rest, he lowered his arms. "This is about Azura, then."

"How can you promise yourself to a woman when you've already pledged service to your country? To your family? And how many others, Kaze? I've turned a blind eye to the way your heart bleeds for as long as I can, but I won't see my own brother become an oath breaker."

"I don't intend to break any of the oaths I've made," he replied, taking another step back, letting his weight settle evenly between his feet. "They are not given lightly."

A mirthless bark of laughter grated behind Saizo's mask. "You would pledge your life to a passing stranger if you thought he could make use of it. And what happens when that stranger asks for your king's head? Which vow do you uphold then?"

"Azura is no stranger," Kaze replied, a rare crease developing between his brows. "And her aims of bringing peace align with mine. You would know that if you took a moment to speak with her."

"Words are wind," Saizo snapped, filling his free hand with a second kunai. "I need only blades to show me the cut of someone's heart."

He launched forward, using the momentum of the current to almost skate over the water. But Kaze was ready. Shifting his weight back, he dragged his foot in an arc before him, kicking up a blinding spray. Cutting through it, Saizo's kunai met nothing but air. Droplets splattered around him, refracting the evening light like thousands of sparks. And one glinted with a silver sheen.

The blade bit his side before he had time to react. Careening around, he barely managed to get his legs beneath him before he fell, one knee hitting the water. Glaring up amidst a haze of sweat and pain, he watched his brother leap nimbly away from him, a stain of red now decorating the edge of his blade.

"That's where you're wrong," Kaze replied, sheathing his knife. "There is more to people than strength, and more to life than bloodshed. There is kindness and understanding as well. There is forgiveness."

"You think you can just beg pardon when the enemy's blade is at your throat?" Saizo grunted, struggling to get to his feet. Kaze only watched, never moving and never reaching back for his weapon.

"People should be more than the shadows of their past," he murmured.

A laugh. Small at first, and then growing. Like the cry of a crow it rattled behind Saizo's mask as he lifted his knee from the water. "You think you can outgrow the scars that shape you. Is that it? You think you can bury the past with pleasantries and chatter?"

The weight of Kaze's eyes as they fell over his scar did not escape him. Behind his mask, he wanted to smile. But instead he felt only a grimace.

"No," came the soft reply. "But I don't think we need to face those scars alone."

Silence welled between them. And in its depths loomed the shadows of memories--of pain that had passed unspoken. A bloody eye. A vacant expression. Failed missions that filled their home with emptiness--that clogged their throats with regret. Children. They had been mere children.

"No matter how many tongues you gather to lick your wounds," Saizo said, "there will never be enough to heal them."

"I know you've always felt that my tendency to seek people out was a weakness. But I'm not like you, Saizo. I don't have the strength to do what I must on my own." 

The water tugged insistently at Saizo's clothes. He knew that feeling. Those same hands that hung unarmed at his brother's side had gripped his tunic in such a manner more than once. More than once had they ripped it open to reveal the wounds beneath. More than once had they pressed against him to staunch the flow of blood. More than once had he caught sight of the terror in those gentle eyes.

"...You are strong, Kaze," he replied, voice barely audible over the river as he let his other knee lower to join the first.

His brother shook his head, eyes oddly bright. "The only way I've ever mustered the resolve to fight was by opening myself to others. If I know there are good, strong people who need me as I need them, I can spill as much blood as necessary."

Saizo closed his eyes "Gather the will to fight from where you must. But just know that if you pledge your life to someone, that is what they will expect. And then you must make a choice."

"I have made my choice."

"I don't think you know which choice that is."

Sitting back on his heels, Saizo lifted his hands from the water and placed them on his lap, letting his face tip back to meet the last of the sun's rays. Feeling the prickle of sweat drying on his brow, he inhaled.

"I came here to make you revoke your vows of betrothal. But if you swear to pledge yourself to her, and only her, I will yield the challenge here."

Kaze remained still, his wet clothes hanging loosely off his body. And for a moment, Saizo was struck by how small he was. Surrounded on either side by vast stands of bamboo and the river's tumbling foam, his brother was no more than a blade of grass. When at last he spoke, it was a whisper of wind through the weeds.

"I am sorry I could not be the brother you need or deserve. But I must fight this war my own way. And I have a duty to all those precious to me."

"Kaze, this is about more than just ideals. This is your life. This is her life."

"And we have planned accordingly," Kaze assured, the slosh of water accompanying his boots as he approached. "The dangers of our situation are not unknown to us. But we have spoken about it at length, many times. She and I are of like minds on the issue."

"Which is?"

"That this is bigger than us both. And we understand the sacrifices that may be involved."

His brother stopped before him, a gloved hand outstretched. Saizo glared at it before raising his eye to Kaze's face.

"I somehow doubt that," he grumbled.

For the first time in a long while, the corners of his brother's mouth softened. Closing his eyes, he bent close, slipping an arm around Saizo's shoulders. 

"Then fight me again tomorrow. Test my resolve until you are thoroughly convinced. But for now, we should rest. I know Lord Ryoma never offers you much respite, so you should take the time to recover while you can."

As Kaze heaved him to his feet, the accompanying drip of water followed them all the way up the river bank. Eyes downcast, he shuffled at his brother's side in silence. It was not until they emerged back out into the open field that Saizo cast his brother a sidelong glance. But, backlit by the full glare of the evening sun, the familiar features became lost in shadow. And yet, the image tugged at him. A silhouette against a river lit with gold... 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow and every day hence. He would try again.


	4. Three

The pressure of the Nohrian army weighed heavier on their small camp than usual. And though the atypical exuberance of their ragtag bunch usually brought nothing but hot ire to Saizo's chest, it seemed a trifling discomfort compared to the newfound silence. Where normally the chatter of relief would accompany making camp for the day, now only the methodical click of hammers remained. As he wove through the silent workers erecting tents, none of them afforded him so much as a passing glance.

Making his way to the center of the camp, he realized that the heaviness had not just affected the common soldiers. While normally their liege's tent stood as a shimmering white landmark adorned with the Hoshidan emblem, it had been swapped out in favor of a smaller, more drab accommodation. Even with his heightened senses, Saizo could barely pick it out amidst the highland scrub that had begun to thicken with their ascent into the mountains.

Pushing aside the simple canvas that served as the entryway, he ducked into the tent. And though daylight shone brightly outside, he had to pause to let his eye adjust to the sudden dimness. Only a single lantern lit the cramped space, and a haze of incense further clouded the air. Through it, however, he could clearly make out the glint of his liege's armor. Fully outfitted for battle, Ryoma knelt on the tatami mats that had been laid over the dirt, the sweeping spikes of his face mask cutting a dark outline against the orange light.

"Saizo," he stated, his voice as heavy as the air that filled the room. "Thank you for coming."

A nicety. Though his lord had a fondness for such things, they both knew retainers lived only as extensions of their lord. Thanks were unnecessary. 

Casting a glance to the side, Saizo saw that Ryoma's second retainer had arrived before him. Kneeling on the ground and clad in her usual coral uniform, Kagero made as little movement to acknowledge Saizo's presence as he did hers. He only felt the brief weight of her uncovered eye fall over him as he knelt down to join her. 

"Now that you're both here," Ryoma began once Saizo settled back onto his heels, "I can brief you on the procedures for tonight's ascent into Mount Garou."

Reaching behind him with a rustle of white cloth and brown hair, Ryoma pulled forth a rolled and tattered map. Once spread over the ground between them, it revealed a smudged rendition of the surrounding area. A freshly painted blot of ink encircled by lightly shaded scrub marked their current position. To the north, the scrub began to mingle with more jagged lines, which sharpened as they joined to form Garou's peak. Through the muddle of paint, only a thin strip laid bare, marking a path as it wove through the mountains.

"Due to enemy blockades, this route is our last option into Nohrian territory," Ryoma continued, pressing a gauntleted finger to the map. "But, as I'm sure you can tell, it's far from ideal. The narrow path and poor footing will force our troops to bottleneck through territory rumored to be riddled with shapeshifters. That's why I will be stationing you two at our flank, to ensure it remains protected."

Saizo blinked up, his gaze shaded by a scowl. "Who will be heading the attack?"

Ryoma's eyes lifted from the map, the corners of his mouth turned down. "If our luck persists, there will be no attack at all. But Corrin and I have elected to hold our front regardless. With morale as low as it is, we feel that a show of courage is needed to bolster our army's spirit."

Courage was one thing. Foolishness was something else entirely. And yet Saizo could not loose his tongue. While other lords found efficiency in squandering vassals for glory, Ryoma saw only dishonor. Such devotion to virtue evoked more than just trust from his followers. It drew valor. In none but the name of their righteous ruler would so many vow to fall upon their blades. 

But that same righteousness often revealed the largest gaps in Ryoma's armor. As a retainer, Saizo worked to keep such things hidden. He deflected blows before they ever fell, all in hopes that his lord might never know the true weight of his own weakness. By bearing it himself as a silent shield, he could allow Ryoma to move unburdened. But never had he dreamed that such freedom would carry his future king beyond protection.

"May I ask who will guard you in our stead?" he asked at length. Beside him, he felt the weight of Kagero's eye once more, but he never let his gaze falter. It remained fixed on Ryoma, who let out a single breath.

"Kaze has asked for the honor of protecting the front detachment."

He felt as though the tatami had shifted violently beneath him. Breath hot inside his mask, he glanced about. Yet nothing in the room had changed. The smoke continued to rise from the burning incense in a steady stream, not even a ripple interrupting its course. Before him, the royal red armor glinted all the same--strong and hard and immovable.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. "My brother?"

"He has done us a great service by undertaking so many dangerous scouting missions these past few weeks. Without him, we would have stumbled into enemy ambushes one hundred times over. Granting such a request seemed a small token by comparison." 

Saizo did not reply. In the silence, Ryoma's gaze weighed heavier upon his shoulders.

"Do you have some reason to doubt him?" came the prince's voice again, now edged with concern.

Shaking his head, Saizo gave a brief bow. "No, my lord. Kaze has trained in the Igasato style as I have. He will serve you well."

Ryoma nodded. "I have every faith that he will."

The discussion turned back to their briefing for the night's mission. But as Ryoma spoke about positioning, Saizo found himself hardly able to hear over the roar of blood in his ears. Keeping his good eye trained down, he followed the path of Ryoma's finger instead. And at each location it paused, he burned the images into his mind. A short passage through a ravine. A series of forested cliffs. And finally an opening onto the mountain's summit. If all worked in their favor, they would have ample opportunity to rest and scout enemy positioning before proceeding with their descent. And it would work in their favor. No matter how hot the fire now surged in Saizo's stomach, he had little reason to doubt. Little reason to let the fires creep up his throat, strangling him.

When Ryoma dismissed them, Saizo could only offer a short nod before getting to his feet, slashing the canvas aside to exit the tent. He heard the fabric flutter again as he walked, light footsteps trailing behind him.

"Do you need something, Kagero?" he asked, good eye catching the flutter of a yellow scarf at his side.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," she replied, voice soft and even. "If you take issue with any of Lord Ryoma's demands, it would be better to address them now. We'll need your full attention in the coming mission, and it's clear you can't give that right now."

Her footsteps falling behind him seemed like the only sounds in the camp. As he passed other tents, only the errant snap of a burning twig gave any sign of life. Even the soldiers squatting before their steaming pots of rice looked like no more than statues, fingers frozen to their spoons. He paused.

"It is not Lord Ryoma's demands that I take issue with," he said at last.

Her footsteps grew louder as she came up beside him, long hair shielding one eye from view. The other settled over him, brow lowered in a question that needed no asking. Saizo felt his brows pinch tighter. 

"I deserve to know my brother's mind," he continued flatly.

Kagero's expression softened, and her eye flicked over the camp. Saizo turned his body toward her.

"You know where he is."

"Shouldn't you?"

The fire smoldering in his chest burst into a blaze, ripping through his throat in a snarl. "Do not tell me how to deal with my own family."

Her eye never changed, but it drifted once more over the camp as she replied, "I haven't spoken to him personally, but Orochi has mentioned a few things in passing. One of them was regarding Lady Azura. Apparently, she is to accompany the lead unit as well."

Saizo did not speak. But the faint boiling of rice pots grew louder in his ears.

"I don't know what your quarrel with Kaze is. I just want to make sure that my comrade is free from distractions while engaging in one of our most critical missions."

He could hear murmurs now. And whether they had been there all along or had only grown from the swelling scent of food, he never knew. But a stirring of life seeped back into the camp all the same--a passing break of sunlight through the clouds.

"I will speak with him," Saizo replied at last. "Will that satisfy you?"

"It's not me who I hope is satisfied," Kagero replied. "He's mending nets in the storeroom, if you wish to speak with him." And with the faint sound of sandals on dirt, she disappeared in one of the passing clouds of steam.

Their slow trek into steeper territory meant that many tents now had to be pitched over what scarce tracts of flat land they could find. This resulted in the organization of their camp into tiers that descended down the hills. While Ryoma and the other commanding officers occupied the upper levels, the storerooms and training grounds had been situated closer to the base. There, they could receive ample protection from the surrounding infantry. 

As he picked his way downhill, he found the path reminiscent of one he had walked many times in the past. Though the land beneath his feet lacked the spring of the fresh mountain grass he remembered, visions of his home village welled behind his eye nonetheless. Situated in a remote range in Hoshido, Igasto also rested on a steep incline, its houses shaded by trees and scattered amidst the cliffs. And, during his years spent there in training, his feet had pressed many prints into the muddy paths.

Prints that, no matter how they grew, never seemed to fill those left in the dirt before him. 

A stray dip in the path caught his step, sending him stumbling. Righting himself, the world swam, wavering between green and grey until at last a tent materialized before him. Setting his brows in a scowl, he ripped open the canvas and stalked inside.

Kaze sat alone on the ground, his eyes fixed on a net laid over his lap. At the ripple of fabric, he looked up, the rope in his hands almost as tangled as his expression.

"Saizo?"

His fingers moved without his bidding. Reaching for his belt, they curled around the handle of a kunai. A soft hiss bit the air before the kunai stuck fast in the tatami mat between them. Kaze's gaze settled over it, face falling into stone.

"I am the fifth to bear the Saizo name," he growled from above the blade. "I am the head of this family and charged with the protection of the high prince. Yet you would see fit to strip me of this honor. Why?"

Kaze did not speak. He did not move. He barely even breathed.

"Why?" Saizo's voice rang sharper than steel, slicing the air between them. And as though blood began to seep from the laceration, the room darkened. The silence thickened. When Kaze spoke again, his voice could barely be heard.

"I never intended to take anything from you."

"Intent is nothing to me, Kaze. Actions are what make a man. How much blood must I spill before you understand?"

In the dim light of the tent, Kaze's face had become milky white, as though illuminated by moonlight. 

"I do understand. That is why. I'm finally acting to right the wrongs of the past."

Illuminated by moonlight in the darkness. Pale cheeks drained of blood, and eyes filled with dread. Saizo felt something stick in his chest. 

"What wrongs could you possibly have to right?"

More silence. And then a voice. Small. Young. "May I ask you something, brother?"

Saizo’s breath grew thick inside his mask. He could barely inhale, let alone speak.

"May I ask you about our father's death?"

Those eyes met his. And in them he could see himself: face slashed, blood dripping from his ruined eye. In them he could feel the searing agony--how it remained even after the blood had washed away. He remembered the throb of it under the gazes of the villagers. So many eyes. So few questions. Only a silence. Only the crushing weight of his own pain as he sat across from his brother at meals, throat choked with emptiness. 

He tore his gaze away, clenching his fists to keep them from trembling. "There is nothing to tell."

From the corner of his eye, he could see something flit across his brother's face. Something like a smile. "I suppose some burdens are best borne alone."

Saizo stood still. Behind him, the light seeping beneath the entryway cast a long shadow across the room. Inside it, his brother hunched, face hidden. His movements betrayed nothing. Only pain exuded from his body--a pain which Saizo could not place. Throat tight, he got to his knees, exposing his brother to a shred of white daylight.

"There is nothing you need to prove," he said at last, voice worn.

"Maybe not to you, brother. But to myself," Kaze replied. And Saizo could see those eyes once more as they lifted to meet his own. "Is that why you fight the way you do?"

Silence bled between them--one filled with a cacophony of clangs. Shurikens bit at the corners of memories, striking metal and dirt and flesh. The inside of Saizo's masked suddenly reeked with the scent of blood. He exhaled. 

Across from him, a smile flitted over pale lips. "Maybe later, we can duel to find out."

Kaze got to his feet, pulling the kunai from the mat. He set it in his brother's hands before leaving the tent. His net laid, tangled and unfinished, on the floor.

Saizo remained there, staring into the empty room for far too long. But as night gathered, so too did the camp. Soldiers began filtering in around him, picking up what his brother had left and winding it about their arms before stowing it in a spare sack. And as the tent began to disassemble around him, he finally got to his feet.

What their small army lacked might, it made up for in efficiency. Within an hour, every tent that had stood over the hills had been rolled up and packed away within a handful of wagons. It was behind these that Saizo waited with Kagero. And while his partner ticked off a checklist of all their supplies, he kept his eye trained on the head of their small caravan. Already halfway up the hill and trickling into the forest, he spied Lord Ryoma’s crimson armor. At his side stood the lost Lord Corrin, along with Lady Azura. Close behind trailed a familiar swatch of purple and green, almost lost within the thickening mountain foliage. And though Saizo expected to see him there, the ire burned no less violently in his chest.

"He has his job," came Kagero's voice beside him, fingers still delicately gripping her brush. "You have yours."

"Don't patronize me," Saizo snapped. Moving up the caravan, his eye fell over a supply wagon with a poorly covered crate. Digging inside, he extracted a few small spheres before nudging it closed. 

As the back detachment finally began to trundle forward, he and Kagero trailed several paces behind. Removed from the shuffling feet and creaking wagon wheels, the sounds of the forest crept forward. Leaves whispered. Night birds called. But amidst the nocturnal chatter, one misplaced snap of a twig could signal an ambush. For this, Saizo listened. His own movements barely rustled the leaves around him as he moved through the wood, just off the path. On its opposite side, he knew Kagero crept. But, like him, she gave little evidence of her presence. 

The night stretched. Their army came to the ravine indicated on Ryoma's map, but the illustration had failed to depict the debris that recent storms had strewn across it. Axes bit at fallen trunks and branches, attempting to widen the path enough for the wagons to pass. Perched on one of the cliffs above, Saizo stared down, eye narrowed. Each strike of metal on wood sent a vibration through his feet that made his teeth rattle. Setting his jaw, he put a hand to the ground just as he felt another set of feet drop down from above to join him.

"This is taking too long," Kagero whispered. 

He nodded. "And these fools are being too loud. This is a stealth operation, not a parade."

Her silence marked all the agreement he required. Casting his eye further up the ravine, a familiar red spark glinted in the moonlight. But, in their dalliance, it had grown uncomfortably small. Squinting through the brush, he attempted to pick out the other members of the front detachment. But the forest only grew thicker with their ascent, threatening to completely choke their commanding unit from view.

"We have to move," Saizo said, voice harsh with urgency.

"How?" Kagero replied. "Any method of clearance more drastic than axes will give away our position at best. At worst, the cliffs will come down around us. And we have orders to guard the flank."

As the spark of Ryoma's armor flickered behind the rising brush, a chill deeper than that of the night rippled over Saizo's flesh. "We're losing them," he hissed.

"We can regroup later if we must. But we must stay to--Saizo!"

He had already begun scaling the side of the cliff--half climbing, half falling as he descended to the ground below. Pine needles scattering around him as his feet hit the earth, he leapt onto one of the stalled wagons, shading his eye from the moon's glare as he threw his gaze further up the ravine. The same red spark flickered. But the movement stalled. Jerked. And then--

"Get down!" Saizo roared.

Like millions of eyes, violet lights blinked awake over the cliffs. And then, widening, pupils white with heat, they burst. In a whirl of heat and light, the explosions ripped through the ravine. Trees chewed by axes splintered, sending spears of wood through the air. Screams of anguish joined the cacophony as rocks and branches found homes inside bodies.

Lifting his arms from his head, Saizo emerged from the rock he had thrown himself behind. But beyond it, all the world had turned to dust. It billowed over broken trees and upturned wagons, swallowing fallen soldiers like a shroud. Taking a breath through his mask, he ducked down, squinting as he rushed into the haze. But no matter how many logs and bodies he leapt over, he could not see it. 

The spark had vanished.

Around him, the dust surged. Shadows mingled and melded. Shapes coalesced and fell away. To his right, the outline of a boulder shuddered, moving as though with breath. It grew as he approached, swelling from beneath a pile of debris. 

"Wolfskin!"

The soldier's scream cut the night before a stray strand of moonlight revealed the glint of claws. Leaping away, Saizo felt a whisper of wind as a limb the size of a tree trunk swiped at his body. Recoiling, the creature melted back into the haze. Branches creaked around him. To his left. His right. Behind. Eye roving frantically over his surroundings, only dust pressed back. Like ink it surged, painting formless shapes onto his vision. A smudge of shadow. A smear of night. 

The gleam of fangs.

They cut bright white through the gloom, dust falling from open jaws like slaver. Leaping away, Saizo loosed a shuriken, only to have another pair of fangs snap shut behind him. Ducking out of range, his feet scrambled for purchase over the debris, finding it on the bark of a fallen tree. Following the angle of its trunk to where it had come to rest against the cliff face, Saizo clawed up the bark and onto the rock. Casting a glance back toward the ground, he saw three monstrous creatures surge from the dust, silver fur caked in dirt, eyes red as the stains decorating their claws. Muzzles snapping with fury, they beat their forelimbs against the base of the cliff, each blow rattling Saizo's bones.

While they raged, other roars joined their own. Cresting the sea of dust, they came in waves. Hordes of wolfskin emerged from the ruins of the ravine, bearing down on their shattered caravan. Shrieks of shattered metal and dying men leapt from the debris, the dark ground growing darker still with blood. 

Above it all, visible now through the leveled trees, the spark had sputtered back to life. Ryoma's armor gleamed almost as violently as the eyes of the monster he faced. Darker than the night from which it emerged, the creature towered above its silver brethren, steam spewing over stained teeth as it reared back and howled.

It became clear then. Nohr had launched an ambush, not with blades, but with the forest itself. And, like an eel pinned to the block, they could only watch. They could only writhe as the cleaver raised above their neck.

Digging into his tunic, he pulled out a sphere no bigger than an egg. One quick strike against the flint on his arm guards sent a flame dancing over its fuse. Holding it far from the grasping tendrils of dust, he raced off along the cliff’s edge. Below him, the wolfskin abandoned their assault to give chase, following his movements as they bounded over branches and fallen logs. Eye trained on their glowing stares, Saizo only looked away for a moment to assess an approaching gap in the cliff. There, the rocks had given way to gravity, crumbling over themselves to form a steep slope toward the earth. Spark eating at the fuse in his hand, Saizo took it at a run, pebbles spraying before him and the scrabble of claws on wood clamoring close behind. Just as he met the base, one rock hidden beneath the dirt snagged his foot. Ripped around by the force, his knee hit the ground just as three pairs of glowing eyes cut through the gloom to meet him. The creatures leapt from the dust. For a moment, the spark lit their slavering maws before disappearing into the core of the orb.

Vision blurred with sweat, he threw it forward. 

The world fell mute with the blast. And from the silence erupted flames. Ravenous tongues tore at the dark, lapping up shadows and bark and fur. In a flash of orange, the creatures set fire, muzzles opening but only the keen of silence pouring forth. Head swimming, Saizo got his legs beneath him, only for them to crumple beneath his weight. Breath echoing in his own deafness, he looked down to see a flash of red rippling over his torso. Flames.

No. Blood. 

As the wolfskin thrashed, Saizo pressed a hand to where the shrapnel had entered his body. Sandals sliding over the debris, he staggered away. Just ahead. Just ahead, the dust cleared beneath silver spears of moonlight. The spark of armor flashed. Just ahead, the crackle of divine lightning filled the night as Ryoma swung his blade.

Branches nicked his face. Brambles clawed his clothes. And yet he tore forward. Through the last of the leveled woodland he raced, pounding blood and rasping breath the only sounds he could hear. With each pulse of silence--with each branch he ripped away and each fevered foot that hit the earth--the image before him grew clearer. Ryoma drew his blade from the alpha beast’s body. In a spray of blood and steam, it hit the earth. The force of the drop sent tremors shivering through the ground. Tremors that did not stop.

The cliff crumbled. But even as Saizo launched himself desperately forward, Ryoma’s footing remained firm. Instead, his lord swung around, mouth stretched in anguish as he lunged for something. Someone.

Someone beyond his help.

At the edge of the ridge stood Corrin. Like a splinter of silver against the dark canyon behind him, he turned. And, though Raijinto flashed, only its light reached its mark, glinting blue against the whites of Corrin's eyes. The ground shuddered. The earth cracked. And the edge of the cliff fell away, swallowing their lost lord with it. 

As though suspended in water, Saizo swam through the silence. The fifty paces toward the ridge stretched impossibly before him. Just beyond his reach, Ryoma’s white robes flared. The golden gleam of Azura’s lance flashed. Kaze’s blur of green streaked through the dark.

Just beyond his reach.

Just beyond his reach, he watched his brother follow Corrin over the cliff.

Something inside him roared. Like all his spilled blood had come rushing back, he surged forward. Ripping through the silence, he ran, throat burning with a sound he could not hear. Only a pounding pulse echoed in his skull as he burst through the underbrush and onto the stone. It followed him as his feet slid over the cracked surface, pushing past Ryoma and toward the cliff’s edge. It blared as Hinoka’s pegasus emerged from the canyon bearing a single passenger.

He thought he recognized the shape of the name on Corrin’s lips.

Numb, Saizo stumbled forward, the fissures catching at his soles and dragging him to his knees at the cliff’s edge. The darkness yawned below him, eating at the corners of his mind--his world. Gnawing the silence from his ears.

“...wn!”

Swinging his legs over the side of the cliff, he began to descend.

“Stand down, Saizo!”

Behind him, Ryoma’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, striking at his heart. From the wound bled a chill. It crept into his veins, freezing his limbs to the stone, filling his lungs with ice. Breath coming hard, his eye throbbed against the emptiness below.

“Heed me! Heed your liege! Do not take another step!”

Gravel shivered beneath his sole and clattered away.

“I forbid it!”


	5. Four

From his place laid across the futon, Saizo could make out the far side of the tent. Whether any other canvas walls surrounded him, he never knew. All he saw was the blank stretch of white that stared back at him. Within it, shadows would play. As morning broke into daylight, silhouettes cut outlines in the fabric, and whispers wove through the threads. 

His side throbbed. With so many injuries and so few healers, he had elected to nurse his wound alone. It became his only company as day dragged through the tent. Sweat from the stagnant afternoon heat punctuated the pain. Like an hourglass, the droplets ticked by the seconds with their inching crawl. And, as the last grain fell, one would find a home in open flesh. Fresh agony sparked, the blaze a sudden, searing reminder of every cut and laceration. It served as the sole disruption to the suffocating dimness of the room. Where the cicadas of Hoshido had droned, now only came the buzz of flies. Across the white canvas that filled his vision, a crimson light bled. Then red bruised to purple. Darkness gnawed at the edges of the wound. And not until all light had rotted away did the sweat cool from his skin.

Moonlight broke in stark sterility over the canvas. And, had a shadow not suddenly cut through the blankness, he might have mistaken it for death. Blinking, he lifted his eye from the wall, letting it drift upward toward the source of the shadow. Over him stood a shape--a figure, outlined in silver and wrapped in a scarf.

"I found him," Kagero's voice cut through the emptiness.

For a moment, something lit in his heart. A spark of hope he had not yet doused fed on her words like oil, seizing his muscles and surging him upright. And then it died. Then he knew.

"I made a pyre outside of camp," she continued. "He's there, if you would like to pay your respects."

"Lord Ryoma forbid us from scaling the gulch."

"If I recall correctly, he only forbid you," Kagero replied. She lapsed into silence then, the moonlight outlining her face as she cast a glance over her shoulder. "I know it is our nature to die alone. I know we are all prepared to let the earth inherit our memories. But...I am a sister as much as I am a ninja."

Silence descended again. From his place on the futon, Saizo made no move to reply. 

She turned, gripping the entryway of the tent. Not looking back to face him, her voice came once more. "Follow me if you like."

The tent fluttered closed, and her shadow disappeared from the wall across from him. In its place the canvas filled once more with a bright white emptiness. He stared at it, the moonlight seeming to eat away at each thread--each shadow--until it had all dissolved into nothing. Blinking, the clarity returned. Eyes flicking to the upturned mask beside him, he picked it up and got to his feet.

Outside, a chill had settled over the camp. Now on the level terrain of Garou's peak, the tents had dispersed themselves more evenly over the rocks, some pitched against outcroppings or scant patches of brush. A few dried weeds crunched under his sandals as he stepped out of the entryway, simple robes flapping about his ankles. Only the last wisps of cooking fires gave any indication of inhabitants, all canvases now drawn shut for the evening. Yet, down the path, one figure moved, the moonlight dancing along the edges of a coral uniform. He followed her at a distance, his legs stiff beneath him, each step tugging at the edges of his wound. Still he carried on, shuffling down a sloping path that branched away from the camp. There, a patch of soil that had not yet given way to erosion held a small stand of knotted trees. Pulling his robes free of the reaching branches, he wove through it, following the trail of flattened grass until it led him to a small clearing. 

It appeared to have been the location of a lightning strike. The dry wood suddenly blackened around him, branches shriveled over a scarred and empty ground. In the center of the old wound rested something more fresh. Twigs and branches had been gathered into a mound over cleared dirt, on top of which rested a simple white sheet. Beside it, Kagero squatted, pulling a simple clay jar from a cloth bag before leveling her uncovered eye at him.

"You should not have done this," he said, standing several paces away, still sheltered in the shadows of the tangled branches. "Military resources are not to be wasted on personal indulgence."

"I know," she replied, pulling the lid from the jar with a soft scrape. The faint scent of oil reached his nostrils. "All I've done is gathered them. Whether you use any of it is your choice."

She withdrew a small box from the bag, along with a brush and a hand rake. Saizo watched the careful touch of her fingers as she placed them side by side, turning each to face the pyre. Once finished, she folded the bag and placed it before the items, getting to her feet and stepping back. Again, he could feel her eye on him. The longer it remained, the heavier it became, crushing the breath from his chest. At last, he lifted his own eye to meet her, anger smoldering in its depths. 

"What do you want from me?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that you don't want for yourself."

Despite her reply, the weight did not lift from his chest. Numbness spread from his fingertips and up his shoulders, knees watery beneath him. Unbidden, one foot lurched forward and he paused, the moonlight burning against his white robes. Beneath the mask, his breath grew hot. Another step and another brought him within reaching distance of the pyre. Over it, the white sheet fluttered.

"He's not the way you remember," Kagero warned. "The fall did not preserve him well."

"I am not a fresh recruit to the field," Saizo snapped. "I know what death looks like."

Despite his words, he could feel the tremors in his hand as he reached forward to grip the sheet. And as he did, his fingers carved shadows into the cloth. They stretched before him, long and dark, carving a gulch against which he could see a sliver of silver. A blur of green. 

He pulled the sheet back. Against his eye, he could sense shapes. Colors. Part of him registered what he saw. Part of him assessed the damage, surveying each injury and marking which qualified as fatal. But part of him remained trapped on the cliff. Part of him swam through silence and cold. Part of him watched, again and again, as his brother fell into darkness.

The cloth fluttered back down, and he saw it stir as though caught in a soft breeze. But he could not feel it. He could feel nothing. Only the weight against his chest remained. Even as he withdrew his hand to press against his mask, it bore down. The warmth of his trapped breath thickened in his chest, diaphragm straining with the effort to move it. Powerless, he yielded, letting the weight push him to one knee, and then the other. Lifting his head, he forced out two words before his throat closed entirely.

"Leave me."

Whether Kagero heeded the command, he could not know. Pinned beneath the weight of the emptiness, he could only look up. He could only gaze into the black night sky, sucking it in and feeling it fill his lungs. Like ink, it drowned him, filling him with cold. It spread to his fingers and behind his eyes. Slowly, it welled in his brain, washing everything in darkness. And then it warmed. As though immersed in a freezing stream, his body became blind to the tumult--to the void. 

In the empty air, he stood. And though the weight clung to his arms, he found them lifting. Picking up the jar of oil in his hands, he emptied it over the pyre. Though he saw it land--though he watched it bleed over the fabric--he never heard. Not even the strike of flint reached his ears or the crackle of twigs. Only warm black ink pressed against his skull. Only cold filled his lungs.

Without words. Without question. A blur of green. A gust of air.

He watched as the wind carried the smoke silently into the sky. His eye remained fixed on the waning trail even as gold began to gnaw at the horizon, bathing the clearing in red. Saizo blinked through it, trying to find the smoke through the glare. Only then did he notice the trail had ended, the pyre burned to nothing more than white ash at his feet. Stooping down, he employed the rake Kagero had left him, sifting through the dust to loosen any remaining coals. Once he could find no further signs of warmth, he traded the rake for the brush. Sweeping it all into a pile, he deposited it into the empty box at his side. It was simple and small, and yet it held everything. Dust and dirt. Giving it one last look, he fitted the lid over the top before gathering the rest of the supplies back into their cloth bag. Tying the satchel to his waist, he picked the box up and began making his way back through the stand of trees and down the path.

By the time he returned to the camp, stirrings of morning activity had already begun to rustle within it. Soldiers emerged from tents with buckets for water or wood for cook fires, a murmur of chatter rising between them with the sun. He kept his head down as he moved through the bustle, legs too stiff and clothes too loose to employ any evasion. But his path remained empty all the same. Spying a pair of feet opposite him, he watched as they drifted away with his approach, a gust of laughter dying with it.

For the best.

With the immediate danger of the wood behind them, the commanding tents had once again been erected in all their shining splendor. The largest of them had already caught the first rays of sunlight, reflecting a blinding gold from its spotless white canvas and elegant red trim. He veered away from it. 

"Saizo."

Not quickly enough. Closing his eye, he paused in his retreat, tucking the box inside his robes before turning back toward the voice. Ryoma stood on the path, already suited in full armor, the red plate gleaming redder in the bleeding glow of the sky.

"I'm glad to see you up," he said, stepping closer. Despite the relief he spoke of, his expression carried a concern that weighed heavily over the corners of his mouth. It burdened Ryoma's voice as well, pressing it to a softer note as he continued. "Sakura said you refused treatment in spite of your wounds, so I was worried about your recovery."

"Your concern is generously given, my lord," Saizo replied. "But not necessary. My wounds will heal."

"That's good to hear," Ryoma replied, trying to fight his lips into half a smile. He never quite made it. Expression growing grave once more, he took another step forward. "If you're feeling well enough, then perhaps you could speak with Corrin. He approached me after the battle, and said there were matters he wanted to discuss with you. Apparently, your brother told him some things during the climb that he felt you should hear."

Despite the swollen emptiness filling his insides, he could still feel a familiar prickle against the walls of his stomach. Removing his eye from Ryoma's face, he felt a corner of the box dig into his chest. "There is nothing he could tell me that I don't already know."

Between them, a breeze passed. With it came the chatter of soldiers and the smell of rice. But it could not penetrate the cold that still clung like night. Even as the sun broke over the crags and onto their skin, it remained. Squinting in the light, Ryoma took another step forward. Now inches apart, Saizo could barely contain the urge to recoil. 

"I...want to apologize for that night, Saizo," came Ryoma's voice at last. "I did not mean for my order to seem indifferent or cruel. But we had lost so many good men already. I could not bear to lose one more."

Ryoma's voice, though soft, gripped him as it had on the cliff. Frozen, box digging deeper into his chest, Saizo kept his eye lowered as he replied, "I acted out of line. You did what any commanding officer would have done."

"We have an understanding, then?"

Saizo wrenched his gaze from the ground at last, leveling it upon Ryoma's eyes. Within them, he could sense a crack in that red armor of assurance. Within them, he could see a sliver of doubt. Gathering what last reserves of strength the night had not yet pushed from his body, he forced an even reply. 

"I harbor no ill feelings."

Like a staff put to wounds, he watched the crack seal, and found a genuine relief bouying the corners of Ryoma's lips. "Good. Then I will not order you to speak with my brother. But promise me you'll consider it."

"As you say, my lord." 

He watched Ryoma move off down the path, stride deft over the rocks. Not until a breeze caught at his thin white robes did Saizo finally stir, lifting his feet from the ground and steering them forward. The tent he aimed for sat several paces apart from the other royal accommodations, only a single banner denoting its elevated status. He paused at its entrance, breath uncomfortably warm beneath his mask.

"Lady Azura?"

Within, he could hear a faint stirring, and then a voice almost lost between the threads of the canvas. "Please come in."

Pushing the canvas aside, he stepped into the tent. The scent of incense caught his nostrils immediately, but beneath it lurked a heavy stagnation. It lay thick over the dimly lit tent, swimming over a low-slung table and its surrounding cushions like smoke. Further inside, a curtain rested half drawn, revealing sheets scattered over a futon in restless waves. As he inspected them, a pair of bare feet fell into view, and he looked up to see Azura stepping forward and drawing the curtain shut behind her. 

"Saizo," she said, her voice tired. And though her hair fell lank about her face and red rimmed her eyes, she offered him a small smile. "To be honest, I didn't expect to see you."

"You were my brother's wife, regardless of my feelings," came the response, hollow inside his mask.

"I see..." she replied. Moving aside her white dress, she lowered herself onto a cushion before the table, gesturing to the one across from it. "Would you like to sit?"

He stood for a moment, unresponsive but for the swollen throb that beat against the box at his chest. At last he stumbled forward and dropped onto the cushion, muscles coming undone beneath the heavy air. Breathing raggedly, he lifted a shaking hand and pulled the box from his robes at last, setting it on the table and pushing it toward her.

"My brother's ashes," he explained. "I burned him myself this morning."

Her eyes grew wide--almost wide enough to see himself reflected inside of them. A sudden sheen of moisture obscured the image.

"You're giving them to me?" she asked, though she made no move to accept. "Are you certain you don't want them for yourself?"

He stared at the box on the table. What scant light cut through the tent illuminated its simple edges and small size. Dust and dirt filled it now. He had placed it there himself. 

His fingers tightened into fists. Inside his stomach, he could feel the black ink rising like bile. Warm and tasteless, it slid over his tongue, leaking from his lips in words.

"Before we left camp that night, I confronted Kaze about his placement in the ranks. Instead of explaining himself, he posed a question to me instead. I was too much of a coward to answer." He let his hands open on the table, shadows dancing below them. "I was ten paces away when he fell. But I never saw his face. Not once...not once did he look back."

She stared at the table as though she could see the darkness pooling there. Slowly, her hands moved toward the box, but never touched the wood. Instead, she lifted her gaze to meet him, though he did not return it. 

"Have you spoken with Corrin?"

"I won't pry secrets from my brother's corpse," he countered, a heat edging the tasteless oil in his mouth. 

She folded her hands before the box, closing her eyes. "He...never was one to speak much about himself. Even though a letter from my childhood brought us together, he seldom brought up his own. I never asked him why. I think we understood each other in that way. He was kind without question. And I..."

Opening her eyes, a tear fell over her cheek. "I cannot fault him for it. In the end, it was what made us so alike. Even knowing what the consequences could be, we both harbored secrets of our own."

Trying to close his mouth--trying not to let the bile spill over the box or the woman whose hands hovered so terribly close to it--Saizo watched. He watched as her lips parted, trembling. He watched them begin to form the shape of a word before they closed. Turning up into a smile, tears spilled over them. When next they opened, her voice followed.

"I'm pregnant."


End file.
